


We're Still in This Together

by a_Kabby_k



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bunker, Fluff and Angst, Ring fight, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 19:31:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14409042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_Kabby_k/pseuds/a_Kabby_k
Summary: “I won't do it,” he declared thickly. “I won't take someone's life,” he affirmed flatly, giving her a forlorn look as their eyes met again.Abby stared at him and he could almost hear the latch click again. Her face went blank and her gaze darkened. “Then, they'll kill you,” she said curtly.





	We're Still in This Together

**Author's Note:**

> We're almost there guys !!!!!! Can wait to see them on my screen again!
> 
> Thank you so much to the amazing @Mo9Ja for her precious help!

**We're Still in This Together**

****

 

Leaning against the doorframe, half hidden in the heavy darkness of the bunker, Marcus stared sadly at the only woman he had truly loved in all his life. The woman he had still loved achingly despite the wall she had built around her heart to lock up her true self for six years. 

He was watching her from afar, and not just because she was standing a few feet away. Since that damn day, he felt like he was always looking at her from afar, even when she was lying next to him in their quarters. It was like there was a pane, an invisible but shatterproof pane preventing him from reaching her, from _seeing_ her. She had locked herself in this dark place and she had thrown away the key, preventing anyone, even  _him_ from finding a way to enter. 

Quietly,  _painfully_ , he looked at the now grayish strand of hair that was framing her face. She hadn't aged in six years; she had faded, like a delicate flower deprived of sunlight. Her vitality was gone. Hope was gone. 

His gaze moved down towards the black and leather outfit she now wore. She was looking like the perfect grounder but it wasn't the reason for her new look. It was armor, something that silently told you to back away, to stay at arm's length from her. It screamed _fear me_ rather than _love me._

His eyes kept running along her tiny figure and stopped at her hands. He watched her patch up the only survivor of the latest fight to the death with precise medical gestures. She was silent, doing what she had to do robotically. She used to be a good-hearted doctor and now she just looked like a cold scientist  just doing her job . 

Hope had been replaced by fatalities. Fire had been replaced by ice. Altruism had been replaced by indifference. 

Sometimes, seeing her like this was almost as hard as seeing her lying on that table in Mount Weather. He could sense her pain, another kind of pain but still an all-consuming, harrowing pain and once again, he felt as helpless as he had felt in the mountain: he couldn't help her, he couldn't  _save her._

The only thing preventing him from falling apart was the real Abby, _his_ Abby. The one who, from time to time, flared up briefly, unexpectedly, whether it was in a soft smile addressed to a small child or in the light kiss she sometimes dropped on his shoulder late in the darkness of the night when she thought he was asleep. The real Abby was still there, he could sense her below the surface of this new icy lake, but unfortunately, he couldn't reach her. 

“Why are you here?” her cold, almost harsh voice pulled him out of his musings. 

Numbly, Marcus gave a brief nod to the warrior who was leaving sickbay and then looked back at Abby. She was walking towards the sink and if he hadn't heard her voice he could have believed that she was ignoring him. He watched her put the bloody medical tools into the already reddish water and swallowed hard. 

Since Praimfaya, she had gotten used to talk to him like this. He never complained, always took it even if it broke his heart a little more every time. He felt like it was, unconsciously or not, her way to remind him that he wasn't forgiven, that something was definitely broken between them. 

Yes, they shared a bed at night. Yes, sometimes, they shared a little more than that when they only had the darkness as a witness. Yes, sometimes she asked for him, for his touch, for his love, but in the end it was always the same: as soon as the alarm clock resounded, everything faded away and they were brought back to _this._

Marcus opened his mouth but the words failed him even after he had cleared his throat. He didn't know how to say it. He didn't know if he would be able to say it out loud because if he did, then everything would become real,  _too_ real. 

Abby's shoulders slumped a little as she grabbed the edge of the sink she was facing. “Marcus?” she insisted, her back still to him and he saw her flinch as his heavy silence started to speak for itself. 

“When?” she inquired bluntly and he threw his head backwards, fighting against the urge to cry by inhaling deeply. 

“Soon,” he managed to say over a lump in his throat. 

This time, Abby turned around to face him, slowly, reluctantly. He blinked back a tear and when he opened his eyes again: here she was, Abby,  _his_ Abby. Her face was distorted by fear. Her eyes were wet with pain. Her bottom lip was shaking as if she was about to burst into tears. 

They stared at each other for a moment, a deadly silence surrounding them as the pane between them started to shatter. Abby's face turned as white as a sheet and it wasn't because of the faint light of the neon tube. For a second, Marcus was tempted to run to her and to take her in his arms. His body leaned forward thoughtlessly but he stopped himself. 

As always, he left her the choice to make the first move, even if he was longing for her touch like a puppy was longing for the attention of his master. They have been walking on eggshells with each other for six years and he didn't want to push her, to ask for more than she was ready to give him. 

So he waited. He waited until she finally made her way to him, until she reached out for his chest with a shaking hand, until she leaned against his body and folded herself into his arms. 

He held her, as tight as he could, burying his face in her hair, breathing her in. He felt her melt into his embrace and he couldn't help but let out a breath of relief.  _This_ was what he was living for now, these rare, precious moments of tenderness she allowed herself to give him. He craved for them, day and night, night and day. He craved for them more than anything. 

Marcus felt her lips press against the crook of his neck and it was too much. The tears he’d tried to hold back since he came in escaped his eyes. 

“We do what we need to do to survive,” she murmured against his skin and he froze. His eyes went dry as his blood ran cold. 

Caught off guard, Marcus loosened his embrace and took a step backwards. That was  _not_ what he expected to hear or rather, that was not what he wanted to hear. He could feel Abby's eyes searching for his but he looked down, shaking his head bitterly. 

“I won't do it,” he declared thickly. “I won't take someone's life,” he affirmed flatly, giving her a forlorn look as their eyes met again. 

Abby stared at him and he could almost hear the latch click again. Her face went blank and her gaze darkened. “Then, they'll kill you,” she said curtly. 

Marcus' heart shattered into pieces, not because of the truth of her words but because of the way she said it. Her tone was factual, deprived of any kind of emotion. There was no pain, no anger, _nothing._

“So be it,” he spat bitterly as a wave of anger washed over him. 

He stood still, glaring at her, waiting for a word, for a sign, for anything that could tell him that she cared, even just a little. He waited, but all she had to offer him was an almost defiant look. 

Hurt like he had never been before and sorely disappointed, Marcus turned around and made his way towards the exit. Maybe he was wrong after all. Maybe she was gone. Maybe  _his_ Abby had died for good with the thousands of other martyrs. Maybe she had been taken by Praimfaya as well. In six years, there hadn't been a day, a minute, even a second where he had lost hope, lost faith in her but now... The gates of death were close and he had never felt so lonely in all his life, even on the Ark, even during his darkest moments. 

As he was about to step outside the room, Marcus suddenly felt the need to know, to be  _sure_ . He grabbed the doorframe and turned his head slightly towards her. He wasn't fully looking at her but he could guess her figure from the corner of his eyes. 

“Was it true?” he asked bluntly, tongue heavy in his mouth. 

“What?” she asked him back, her tone still as cold as earlier. 

Marcus inhaled deeply, trying to find some inner courage. “When you said you loved me, was it true then?” he wanted to know over a lump in his throat. 

A heavy silence fell upon them for a moment. All he could hear was the nagging rumbling of the ventilation system and the drip of his bleeding heart inside his own body. 

“Marcus,” she breathed out and she sounded kind of taken aback. 

“Please, just answer the question,” he demanded, trying not to think too much about the unexpected change of her tone. He didn't want to read anything wrongly into it. He was _afraid_ of interpreting it incorrectly because right now, he wouldn't be able to take more disillusionment. He felt like he just lost her for good and it was already far more than he could handle. 

“Yes,” she said firmly and from the corner of his eyes, he saw her take a step forward. 

The word pierced his heart even if it was the answer he wanted to hear, the answer he  _needed_ to hear. His knuckle turned white as he tightened his grip on the doorframe. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold metal. Maybe he won't have to fight in the ring after all because right now, he felt like he could really die from a broken-heart. 

“Thank you,” he whispered brokenly as he did his best to hold back the sobs which were squeezing his throat. 

By saving her life he had lost her but it was worth it, everything was worth it because in the end, even if it was for a split second, even if it was just the time of one blink, the time of a breath, Abby had loved him. She had given him more than he would have dared to dream, more than he thought he deserved. 

With a smashed heart, Marcus took a first step over the threshold. 

“Marcus wait,” Abby's voice resonated behind him but he didn't stop. It was too hard. He didn't feel strong enough to take more coldness from the woman he loved so desperately. “Marcus!” she insisted and this time, she yelled and the despair creeping into her tone made him freeze. 

Marcus turned around and he realized that she was close to bursting into tears. She was staring at him,  several conflicting emotions crossing her face simultaneously . She was torn. Torn between who she was and who she thought she needed to be. Her shell was cracking and he could catch a glimpse of the light seeping out through the fissure. 

“I've never stopped loving you,” she told him, her voice breaking on the last words. She was staring at the floor, rubbing her fingers nervously against each other. “I could never stop, even if I wanted to,” she added in a murmur and in forty years she had never sounded so vulnerable. 

Marcus' anger faded away instantly and he rushed towards her without thinking.  This time, he would not let that ember die again . He intended to blow on it, to do everything he could to rekindle that fire.  _Her_ fire. 

Firmly, he pulled her against him and she let him, willingly melting in his embrace. “I thought—” he murmured against her temple but she didn't let him finish his sentence. 

“I know,” she cut him off and he could trace a hint of selfloathing in her voice. “I know and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she sobbed, her nails cutting into the flesh of his back through his t-shirt. 

“I wish I knew how to help you,” he breathed out against her hair, muffling his own sobs into a kiss on the top of her head. 

“You do!” she told him instantly. “You help me. _Everyday_ , but I—I— I'm out of hope, Marcus,” she confessed as she wrapped herself impossibly closer into his arms. 

She was nuzzling into his neck now, her mouth pressed firmly against his pulse point and he felt like she was searching for a spark of life, the one she needed in order to come back from this dark place where she had been stuck for so long. “I wish I could still be the woman you loved,” she whispered with a broken voice. 

Marcus swallowed hard at the meaning of her words and pulled back a little, enough to look her right in the eyes and he cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You still are,” he asserted. “I love you. I could never stop, even if you wanted me to,” he echoed her previous words, changing the end of the sentence on purpose. 

A cascade of silent tears  ran down Abby’s cheeks , but she managed to offer him a soft smile. “I don't want you to,” she told him and he smiled back at her before pressing his forehead against hers. 

“Good,” he murmured, stroking her cheekbones tenderly with his thumbs. 

They stood still for a moment, just enjoying the ease of that quiet, peaceful bubble that was enveloping them; a bubble where the walls around them were visibly covered in the blood of the dozens of people who had been killed there for the greater good, where loving someone didn't mean suffering, where they could be free and safe, even just for a split second. 

“I don't want you to be forced to do things you don't want to, but I don't want you to die either,” Abby spoke again and the bubble burst, leaving the darkness to surround them again. 

“Abby,” Marcus sighed, trying to prevent her from saying what he knew she was about to say, but she pulled away and grabbed his head between her hands. 

“We don't have a choice, Marcus. We're not in charge anymore,” she reminded him, her nails almost digging into his cheeks. “Octavia is ruthless, she has to be and if you don't fight, she won't do anything and then— and then—” she trailed off before clenching her jaw, visibly trying to compose herself. “And then, they'll kill you,” she managed to say eventually, her tone hard again but this time not with cold indifference but with devastating pain. 

Marcus swallowed hard and pressed his lips together. He took a deep breath and put his hand over one of Abby's against his cheek while the other landed protectively on the small of her back. “If nobody stands against it, things will never change,” he told her gravely and she shook her head. 

“It doesn't have to be you,” she said, almost pleading. 

“Yes, it does!” he stated, a little more abruptly than he meant to. “I learned from the best,” he tried to lighten the mood poorly, but he didn't try to fake a smile. 

Abby's grip on his face softened until she let her hands slide along his neck, his shoulders, and finally towards his chest. “We’ve already lost too much,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “ _I’ve_ lost too much. I lost my husband. I lost my daughter. I lost more friends than I can count. I'm done Marcus! I'm so done losing people I love!” she declared bitterly,  angrily, _painfully_ . “Don't do that to me! Not you, not once again!” she finished, her fingers closing tightly around the lapel of his jacket. 

Marcus felt his heart twist painfully as the ghost of Pike suddenly seemed to breathe on his neck. This scene had a bitter taste of déjà vu, an acrid smell of distressing farewell. Marcus stared at her and she held his gaze defiantly. How many times had he asked her to let him sacrifice himself for the good of their people? How many times had the people she loved asked her for the same thing? Jake, Clarke, himself? Marcus suddenly felt cruel and he cursed himself silently. He didn't want to do that to her, but he couldn't resign himself either. She was asking for the impossible. How could he murder a man in cold blood? 

“You're asking me to kill a man,” he said with a sigh, throwing his head backwards helplessly. 

“No, I'm asking you to live,” she retorted emphatically, pulling at his lapel to force him to look back at her. 

Reluctantly, Marcus looked down and met her gaze again. He was torn, so torn between doing what was right and fighting for her, for them. Selfishly, he wished he could be there, next to her, holding her hand the day the bunker door would open. He wished he could be there the day she would be reunited with Clarke again, seeing the joy in her eyes, seeing that bright smile on her face again that had been gone for so long. He wished he could be there, building a new life, far from that bloody tomb, with her. 

Nevertheless, the leader he wanted to be couldn't agree with that travesty of justice. 

“If I end up against a grounder warrior, I would have no chance to win anyway,” he pointed out, resigned. 

In the end, maybe it would be the best compromise: die fighting against someone stronger than him. Maybe it would be easier to accept for Abby. 

The latter opened her mouth, ready to fire back, but the words that suddenly resonated in the room weren't hers. “You will,” The tone was curt, harsh, almost threatening. 

“Indra—” Marcus breathed out as he turned around just in time to catch an axe in the air. He looked at the weapon numbly and then at the woman standing in front of him. He could see in her eyes that she never would have accepted his plan, no more than Abby did. 

Indra held his gaze, staring at him defiantly. She knew him well, almost as well as Abby did and he could sense that she had guessed what he had planned to do as soon as his name had been picked.

Marcus returned her look with a deadpan expression, even when knowing that Indra cared about him too made him emotional. They rarely agreed on anything but there was a deeply rooted respect between them, a genuine trust, something he would have called friendship in other circumstances. She was ready to train him, even if that could mean that he might kill someone from her own clan, someone she cared about. 

For a brief second, he saw her gaze soften, or rather soften in an Indra way, but he caught it anyway. She was silently begging him to not give in, to not sacrifice himself, just like Abby. 

Trapped between these two stubborn women, Marcus felt suddenly robbed of his choice. How could he say no to them? How could he be strong enough to put his morals before  _them_ ? What would he have done if the situation had been reversed? If Abby would have been the one in the ring, letting the other fighter kill her without doing anything? Or Indra? 

Slowly he bent his head, pondering and picturing it inside his mind. If he was totally honest with himself, he would have to admit that he wouldn't have let them, he would have jumped into that bloody ring himself, doing everything he could to save them. 

“Come on, we don't have time to lose,” Indra told him before leaving the room as suddenly as she had arrived. 

Marcus stood still for a moment, his eyes falling once again on the weapon. He had killed before, whether it was with a raised hand or with a gun. He was a murderer and nothing could ever change that. 

The axe felt heavy in his hand, not because of its weight but because of what it implied. Would he be able to live with himself if he killed someone to save himself? Would he be able to rest in peace if he chose to leave the woman he loved behind, alone with her  inner  demons when he was the one who had prevented her from sacrificing herself? How could he reproach her for asking him to stay alive when he hadn't been able to let her go when she had asked him to? 

Slowly, Marcus turned his head again, meeting Abby's gaze. “Please,” she mouthed, reaching for his hand, the one that was holding the handle of the axe. She closed her fingers around his and squeezed. “You owe me this,” she added and just like that, with those four words, he surrendered. 

“You'll be there?” he asked and he realized that he probably sounded like a scared child. 

Abby's lips stretched into a soft sad smile. “Always,” she promised as she nodded vigorously before raising onto her tiptoes to press her lips firmly against his. 

Marcus stumbled a little, surprised by the strength Abby put in her kiss. He dropped the axe and immediately closed his arms around her middle to press her tightly against him. “Always,” she said again against his mouth and this time,  he responded greedily.  He captured her lips with his, tasting her with his tongue, savoring every inch of her mouth without restraint. For six years, her kisses had felt like a shadow, like a pale replica of what they used to be but now—now he felt it again, that fire, that passion, that all-consuming love she used to pour into all her intimate touches during those nine days of pure bliss in Polis. She was deciding the rhythm and he let her, following her willingly, slowing the movement of his tongue when she did, increasing the pressure of his lips when she demanded. They kissed until the need to breathe called them to order. They kissed until they were both sure that the other  _knew_ . They kissed until neither of them could think, even for a second, that those six years could have changed anything between them.

They broke apart reluctantly and immediately pressed their foreheads against each other. They remained silent for a moment; both trying to catch their breath and wishing this moment would never end. 

At some point, Abby's hand landed on his chest, just over his heart, just where the chancellor's pin used to be. Marcus looked down, watching her slim fingers rub the lapel of his jacket. Carefully, he reached for them and Abby took the opportunity to bring his hand to her mouth. She pressed a gentle kiss on his palm and then looked him back in the eyes. 

“No matter who holds the axe, we're still in this together,” she stated firmly and then, in a split second, Marcus felt every piece of his heart glue back together again. 

The road towards the future was still dark but he could see it again now: that tiny flame in the darkness, that spark of hope shining in obscurity. 

He might die in that ring but it didn't matter as long as Abby,  _his_ Abby would stand next to him until the end.  It didn’t matter, because no matter how hard, unfair, or cruel life could be, they would always be in this together.

 

 


End file.
